Parental Pussy FAIL

Turns out not only can I not take photos with my pussies, I’m the world’s worst cat mom when it comes to snow days.

Photography fail. Feline photo fail

Feline photo fail 8,054,278.

Nashville has recently been pummeled with winter weather outside of the norm. And that’s meant staying in, hunkering down and working in my finest pjs.

Snow day office attire.

Snow day office attire.

Days home due to snow also require a trip to the grocery whenever a winter advisory is in place and Nashvillians feel the need to stock up on any and everything under the sun. Especially milk and bread.

Save yourself.

Save yourself. The lines were about 16 deep at each checkout.

So instead of getting snow day food essentials, I filled my car with the more important necessities when stuck at home.

Most important stocking up of all.

Priorities.

Upon waking up and realizing I needed to put a layer of carbs in my belly before commencing on the day drinking ahead of me, I found an old box of pancake mix and blueberries in the fridge that didn’t yet have mold growing on them.

Homemade breakfast.

Yes, I can cook. Don’t go dying of shock.

After stuffing my face (because I’m like any good selfless mom, I fed me first) with what felt like eight pounds of pancakes, I realized my little fur balls needed some meat for their bones too.

Cats need food too...

Awe, little prince was rationing his food.

But then, this happened when I went to the cat pantry….

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

Upon hearing the cling of the metal food pan ringing a little too loudly due to the lack of food inside, Ted had some choice looks for me.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE'RE OUT OF FOOD?!

WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE’RE OUT OF FOOD?!

Mr. Bear looked in the cupboards with no luck.

Cupboards were empty

Nothing but crumbs.

New Cat checked under the kitchen rug to no avail.

None under here. Rug rate.

My mom hates me.

When I tried calming them down, saying I had tuna (that may or may not have expired in 2010) somewhere in a drawer I returned from my search to this on my computer.

Oh boy.

Oh boy.

Feeling slightly guilty that I had my booze and batter on hand, I thought I would be a super mom and brave the icy streets of Nashville to get these little assholes their fancy $60 cat food (Ted has kitty Celiac’s Disease and New Cat just lucks out – the little bastard).

I then realized that the only tools I had to fight the ice was my Captain and a spatula.

An Iowa girl minus a scraper.

What kind of Iowa girl am I without an ice scraper?!? Yet another fail from yours truly. Sorry Iowa.

Turns out the cooking utensil was no match for the ice that had frozen every opening of my vehicle shut.

Getting nowhere fast.

Getting nowhere fast.

One quarter of the way through after 55 minutes.

One quarter of the way through after 48 minutes.

Realizing that my efforts were going to go down in flames, I trudged back inside to tell my pussies the bad news.  Teddy took it about as well as when he jumped in a bush like Garfield.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CSN'T GET OUT?!

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN’T GET OUT?!

New Cat in all of his dramatic glory, fainted.

Ohmygod! Ohmygod. Ohmygaaaaaaawd.

OMG. Ohmygod! Ohmygod. Ohmygaaaaaaawd.

Luckily for me, my buddy Camo texted that he’d be up my way in his heavy duty truck and asked if I needed anything. And boy, was he sorry (no good deed goes unpunished) when I told him I needed the fancy prescription cat food for His Royal Highness and Mr. Annoying.

He nicely agreed to pick it up, so I called the pet store to see if I could pay over the phone. While the business transaction was a success, the store was closing in 15 minutes due to the inclement weather. At this point, I just felt like I should end it all and let the cats eat my face in lieu of their precious fucking food.

But lo and behold Camo whisked in with a bag just in the nick of time (I’d chosen to put my head in the oven due to warmth).

Snow Hero to the rescue!

Camo needs a cape.

New Cat was so happy to see this sight that he started to make out with the bag of food.

Love

Hugging on the fine delicatessen.

Kissing on the food.

Kissing, er…biting on the bag.

Escorting the damn food to its new home.

Escorting the damn food to its new home.

And diving right in on the fresh duck and pea food.

And diving right in on the fresh duck and pea concoction.

Naturally my first born was nothing but pissed off, yet still found a way to eat anyhow.

I hate your guts but my fancy food is delish.

I hate your guts but my fancy food is delish.

We’ve since all made up.

Back to being mauled. Just as it should be.

Back to being mauled. Just as it should be.

Lesson learned folks. My checklist for the next winter weather advisory:

  1. Cat food
  2. Captain
  3. Cat food
  4. Wine
  5. Cat food

Can someone please remind me of this list? It’s hard being blonde.

CBXB

CBXB!